Emory

I smoothed the purple satin of Mina's unicorn costume over her tiny shoulders. The costume had cost me nearly a week's worth of lunches, but the way her blue eyes lit up when she first saw it made every skipped meal worth it. Halloween only came once a year, and at five years old, these were the memories that would stick with her long after she outgrew believing in magic.

"Mama, is my horn straight?" Her small hand reached up to touch the glittery purple unicorn horn attached to the hood of her costume.

"Almost, sweet pea." I adjusted the slightly tilted horn so it stood perfectly upright. "There. Now you're the prettiest unicorn in all of Havenview."

I stepped back to admire my handiwork. The rainbow mane cascaded down her back in soft fabric strips of every color. The costume's body was a soft purple that matched the horn, with iridescent details that caught the light of our apartment's dim living room lamp.

"Can I see?" Mina bounced on her toes, already reaching for my hand mirror on the coffee table.

"Hold still just one more second." I fastened the last button at the back of her neck, then handed her the mirror. "Okay, now you can look."

Her gasp of delight was all the payment I needed. The pure joy on her face made me forget about the stack of bills waiting on the kitchen counter and the extra shift I'd have to pick up next week to cover them.

I reached for my simple costume—a black headband with fuzzy cat ears—and slipped it on without bothering to check my reflection. Tonight wasn't about me. I'd been planning this evening for weeks, making sure I could get off work on time despite my boss's grumbling. At Reynolds & Associates, no one cared about Halloween, but I stayed late three days in a row so I could leave on time today.

"You're not wearing a real costume?" Mina’s brow furrowed in that serious way that always made her look older than five.

"These are my cat ears." I pointed to the headband. "See? I'm a cat mama taking her unicorn trick-or-treating."

She considered this for a moment before nodding in approval. "Cats like unicorns."

"They sure do, baby." I smiled, checking my watch. It was just after six. We had a solid two hours before her bedtime, which meant plenty of time to hit the best neighborhoods for candy.

I grabbed my purse from the hook by the door, making a mental checklist as I rummaged through it. House keys, cell phone, small flashlight, tissues, band-aids for unexpected scrapes, and a water bottle. Halloween in Alabama might cool down from summer, but Mina would still get thirsty running from house to house.

"Mama, can I bring Sparkles?" Mina held up her well-loved stuffed unicorn, its once-white fur now gray from years of being dragged everywhere.

"I think Sparkles should stay home tonight, sweet pea. You don't want to lose him, and your candy bag will get pretty heavy." I kneeled down to her level. "Besides, you're a real unicorn tonight. You don't need a stuffed one."

She seemed to accept this logic and carefully placed Sparkles on the couch. "You guard the house, okay?" she instructed the toy seriously.

I checked the clock again—6:10. Perfect timing to hit the streets just as everyone was setting up. I watched as Mina twirled in a circle, the rainbow mane flying out around her. My smile felt both wide and heavy. I loved seeing her this happy, but the constant weight of being everything for her—mother, father, provider, protector—never fully lifted from my shoulders.

"Look, Mama! I'm magical!" She spun faster, her blonde hair, so similar to my own, peeking out from under the hood.

"You sure are, baby." My chest felt tight with love. "The most magical girl in the whole wide world."

I glanced around our small apartment while she continued her unicorn dance. Mina plastered the refrigerator with her masterpieces—stick figures of us, rainbows in every color she could find, and enough unicorns to start a herd. The couch had a worn spot on one cushion where I sat every night after putting her to bed, catching up on bills or mending clothes. The coffee table had a small chip on one corner. I'd bought it secondhand three years ago.

It wasn't much, but it was ours. After Tyler had walked out when I told him I was pregnant at seventeen, I'd sworn I would make a good life for my baby, even if it wasn't the one I'd dreamed of. No one was going to help us—not my parents, who'd made it clear they wanted nothing to do with my "mistake," and certainly not Tyler, who'd blocked my number and moved to another state.

"Mama, why do you look sad?" Mina stopped spinning to study my face. Those striking blue eyes—her father's eyes—saw too much sometimes.

"I'm not sad at all.”  I shook off the melancholy. "I'm just thinking about how much candy we're gonna get tonight."

"Mrs. Johnson at school said some houses give out full-size candy bars!" Her eyes widened at the prospect.

"Well then, we better make sure we find those houses." I grabbed her light jacket. The unicorn costume was warm, but October evenings in Havenview could get chilly once the sun went down.

"Do you think there'll be other unicorns?" she asked as I helped her into the jacket, careful not to disturb the rainbow mane.

"Maybe. But I bet none of them will be as pretty as you."

"What if there's mean monsters?" Her voice dropped to a whisper.

I zipped up her jacket and cupped her small face in my hands. "Those are just people in costumes, sweet pea. And besides, you've got me. I won't let anything scary get near you."

It was a promise I'd made the day she was born, staring down at her tiny, red face in the hospital. No matter what came, I would protect her.

"Ready to go get some candy?" I grabbed my own light sweater.

She nodded enthusiastically, the unicorn horn bobbing with the movement. I picked up the purple plastic pumpkin bucket we'd bought at the dollar store last weekend, and she clutched it to her chest like treasure.

I took one last look at our small but tidy home before opening the door. The dishes were done, the laundry folded, and Sparkles was standing guard. For the next two hours, nothing mattered except making Halloween magical for my daughter.

"Trick or treat!" Mina practiced in her sweet voice as we stepped into the hallway.

I locked our door, tucked the key into my purse, and took her small hand in mine. Tonight, we'd forget about being a single mom and the kid without a dad. Tonight, we were just a cat and her unicorn, ready for adventure.

I stepped out of our apartment building, Mina's small hand gripped firmly in mine. The streets of Havenview had transformed since morning. Jack-o'-lanterns lined the sidewalks, their carved faces glowing with flickering candlelight. Fake cobwebs stretched across hedges and fences, some adorned with plastic spiders that caught the last rays of the setting sun. The familiar neighborhood had become something otherworldly, exactly as Halloween should be.

"Look, Mama!" Mina pointed excitedly at every decorated yard we passed. "A skeleton! And that house has a ghost in the tree!"

"I see them, sweet pea." I scanned the growing crowds of costumed children and their parents.

My grip on her hand tightened instinctively as a group of rowdy teenagers rushed past us. I'd chosen to start our trick-or-treating route in this neighborhood because it was well-lit and populated mostly by families and older residents. Safety first, always.

"Can we go there?" Mina tugged me toward a house with a friendly-looking porch, decorated with smiling pumpkins and a bowl of candy sitting unattended with a "Please Take One" sign.

"Sure, baby." I guided her up the short walkway, noting the clean yard and well-maintained appearance. Safe.

At the porch steps, Mina suddenly slowed, her previous enthusiasm dimming as she realized she'd have to speak to strangers. For all her excitement about Halloween, my daughter was shy around people she didn't know.

"It's okay," I whispered, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Just say 'trick or treat' like we practiced."

She took a deep breath, her little chest expanding beneath the purple satin of her costume. We approached the bowl together, and I could tell someone was watching through the window, probably smiling at the parade of children coming to their door.

Mina carefully selected a mini chocolate bar, then whispered, "Thank you," to the empty porch.

"Good job, sweet pea." We headed back to the sidewalk. "The next house has people outside, though. Think you can say 'trick or treat' loud enough they can hear?"

She nodded solemnly. "I'll try, Mama."

The next house had an elderly couple sitting on lawn chairs in their driveway. They’d dressed as farmers, the straw hats and overalls making them look like they’d just stepped out of a cornfield. A tray of candy sat between them, and they beamed at each child who approached.

"Well, look at this beautiful unicorn!" the woman exclaimed as we drew near. "Aren't you just the prettiest thing?"

Mina pressed against my leg but didn't hide completely. Progress.

"What do you say?" I prompted gently.

"Trick or treat," Mina said, her voice barely audible.

"My, what good manners," the man said, leaning forward in his chair. "And such a lovely costume. Did your mama make that for you?"

"No, sir," I answered when Mina remained silent. "This unicorn has been dreaming about her costume for months, haven't you, sweet pea?"

Mina nodded, her eyes fixed on the candy tray.

"Well then, I think a special unicorn deserves a special treat." The woman reached into a separate container beside her chair. She pulled out a full-sized chocolate bar and placed it in Mina's plastic pumpkin. "Happy Halloween, darlin'."

"What do you say?" I reminded Mina.

"Thank you," she managed, a little louder this time.

As we continued down the street, Mina's confidence grew with each house. By the fifth stop, she was proudly declaring "Trick or treat!" without prompting, though still in her naturally soft voice.

"Mama, look!" She squealed after receiving a packet of gummy bears. "My favorite!"

"That's wonderful, baby." Pride swelled in my chest. Her little plastic pumpkin was growing heavier, and the pure joy on her face made every sacrifice worth it.

I checked my watch—we'd been out for about forty minutes, and Mina showed no signs of tiring. The streets were getting more crowded as darkness fell completely, and more elaborate costumes began to appear.

We turned onto Maple Street, known for its generous candy offerings, when I felt Mina suddenly freeze beside me.

A group of teenage boys in grotesque monster masks jumped out from behind a large oak tree, roaring and waving their arms. They weren't targeting us specifically—just trying to scare anyone who passed by—but Mina's unicorn horn trembled as she shrank against me.

"Hey now," I said firmly to the boys, "That's enough. There are little ones out here."

One of them shrugged and muttered, "Whatever, lady," before they moved on to frighten other trick-or-treaters.

I kneeled down to Mina's level, her blue eyes wide with lingering fear. "It's okay, sweet pea. They're just big kids being silly. Those aren't actual monsters."

"Are you sure?" Her lip quivered slightly.

"I'm positive." I tucked a strand of blonde hair back under her unicorn hood. "And you know what? I think we should try Preston Avenue next. I heard they have houses that give out those chocolate peanut butter cups you love."

She nodded, her fear already fading at the mention of her favorite candy.

I stood and steered us toward the quieter, better-lit streets of the Preston Avenue neighborhood. My mother's instinct told me to avoid the rowdier sections where teenagers gathered. Mina's safety and happiness were all that mattered tonight.

"Hi there!" A woman approached us, holding the hand of a little boy dressed as a dinosaur. "I love your unicorn costume."

"Thank you," Mina replied, still somewhat shy but warming up to the compliment.

"I'm Diana," the woman said, extending her hand to me. "That's my son, Robbie. We moved to Havenview last month."

"I'm Emory, and this is Mina." I reached out to shake her hand. "Welcome to the neighborhood."

"Is your husband taking the night off?" Diana glanced around as if expecting someone to join us. "Mine drew the short straw and had to work tonight."

The familiar pang hit my chest. "It's just us," I said simply, not wanting to launch into my single-mom story with a stranger.

"Oh." Her smile faltered slightly before recovering. "Well, maybe we could trick-or-treat together? Safety in numbers and all that."

I hesitated. Part of me welcomed the adult company, but another part—the fiercely independent part that had raised Mina alone for five years—resisted letting anyone else into our little world, even temporarily.

"Maybe another time." I smiled politely. "Mina has her heart set on finding those chocolate peanut butter cups, and we're on a mission."

"No problem. Happy Halloween!" Diana waved as she led her dinosaur son in another direction.

"Happy Halloween," Mina called back, surprising me with her boldness.

We continued our candy hunt, Mina's purple pumpkin bucket growing heavier with each house. I watched her skip ahead a few steps, then wait dutifully for me to catch up—exactly as we'd practiced. Her unicorn costume shimmered under the streetlights, and for a moment, I allowed myself to believe in a bit of magic too.

I might not be able to give her everything other kids had—a father, grandparents, a big house with a yard—but tonight, watching her twirl in her unicorn costume under the Halloween moon, I knew I was giving her what mattered most: love, attention, and memories that would last forever.